


The Search for Everything

by Cauilflower, youjokebut



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Attempt at Humor, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Established Relationship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recreational Drug Use, i changed the title of this fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 22:36:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15805932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cauilflower/pseuds/Cauilflower, https://archiveofourown.org/users/youjokebut/pseuds/youjokebut
Summary: So, we all know where this ends. Friendship, love, marriage, y'know the good stuff. But how did they get there? Sure, there were great times, bad times, and even shittier times, but everyone ended up just fine, right? Everyone is happy, healthy and definitely not dead, right?Both McCree and Hanzo, two adult men pushing on into their forties, have never been in love. And then they are. What's worse, it's with each other. Neither of them know what the fuck they're doing and will inevitably crash and burn a fucking lot. But at least it'll be entertaining. And a little sad. And it's definitely going to make you angry. But love makes it all worth it. Right?





	1. Starting Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “‘I love you’ can not even begin to describe what I feel for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU so much to Cauilflower ([check out her twitter!](https://twitter.com/Cauilflower)) for writing this with me. This story wouldn't be half as good OR fun to write without you so THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU. also i looked up on google "marriage sayings" and one of them is not the name of this chapter.

“D’you remember the day we met?”

He didn’t really know where the question came from. They didn’t really talk about the past as much. They had learned to not dwell on things, especially with their line of work. Hanzo believed it was impractical and Jesse thought it was too painful. Why he had voiced the question, he had no idea. His edible hadn’t kicked in yet, and it looked like the pipe Hanzo was smoking out of wasn’t doing him much good either. It gave off a faint glow as he breathed in, reflecting off his bifocals. His husband exhaled hurriedly out of the corner of his mouth, still glued to the tablet in his lap.

They were sitting on their porch, the balmy Santa Fe summer air surrounding them in a comfortable cocoon of sweaty warmth. They shared Lúcio’s rickety loveseat, which he and Genji had made for them as a retirement gift. The the citronella candles weren’t doing him much good, but the thick layers he wore seemed to make it harder for the bloodthirsty mosquitoes to have themselves a buffet of his thighs and arms. Hanzo sat in briefs and an open robe. The mosquitoes feared him; he never got bit up.

“Hello? Asshole? Y’in there?”

When McCree nudged him, Hanzo grunted.

Jesse shifted closer, peering over his shoulder to get a look at what Hanzo could be doing besides paying attention to him. Another story about Overwatch’s new strike commander. He groaned, slamming his head back against Hanzo’s shoulder. When his husband didn’t react, he instead cuddled closer, jutting his face in his neck and giving his jaw a couple kisses.

Hanzo huffed, annoyed, and half-heartedly attempted to shrug him away.

“Honey, you’re obessin’. I know you’re just worried—”

“--worried does not even begin to describe it, _ honey _ . And get off me, your beard itches.” As McCree did what he so sweetly requested, Hanzo growled around his pipe, smoke billowing from his nostrils. He looked like a dragon. Only more threatening. And much cuter. “I am shocked that you are not showing the same concern, if not  _ more _ . Hana—”

McCree felt fazed, floating back against the cushions as Hanzo successfully shoved him off, turning to him with his token venomous expression. Jesse rolled his eyes.

“—is gonna be more than fine,” Jesse finished for him, reaching out and placing a hand on the other man’s thigh. Hanzo paused, opening his mouth and closing it, waiting for Jesse to finish. “And, for the record, I’m scared shitless. I’m shakin’ in my damn boots, darlin’, but there ain’t anythin’ we can do about it. She’s been preparin’ for this for  _ decades _ . She’s ready.”

It seemed that Hanzo agreed, because he stayed silent and crossed his arms over his chest. Leaning towards him once again, Jesse pressed two purposefully slobbery kisses on Hanzo’s cheek before the other man shoved him away. His husband screeched, limbs flailing, as he attempted to wiggle away from him. But McCree held onto him tightly, chuckling low in his throat and pulling him closer. Then he kissed the top of his husbands head, travelling down to his forehead, and trailing kisses down his jaw and neck. Only when Hanzo’s guard was completely down did Jesse blow a raspberry into his neck. Hanzo yelped a laugh, but pulled him closer and began brushing out the tangles in McCree’s hair with his fingers. He felt Hanzo relax, breathing a contented sigh from his nose.

He allowed Jesse to take away his tablet without biting his head off. McCree grunted as he twisted to set the tablet down, a sharp pain rocketing up his spine. Wordlessly Hanzo wrapped an arm around him and started rubbing soothing circles into his lower back. Jesse leaned against him, relishing in the solid curve of his body.

They sat in silence for a couple moments.

Hanzo was the first to break it. Jesse's first question apparently hadn't gone unnoticed.

“Do you mean when we first made acquaintance, or—” Hanzo leaned down and purred directly against the shell of his ear. “The first time we  _ made love _ .”

McCree snorted, shaking his head profusely. Hanzo grinned at him. 

“Don’t fuckin’ say that!”

“Why?”

“‘Cause you always use that weird fuckin’ voice.”

“ _ What voice _ ?” Hanzo asked, using the voice.   
  
“God, shut the fuck up. And the first time we fucked was awful. I’ve done everything to try to forget that night,” Jesse mock shudders. “Y’used  _ so _ much teeth.”

Hanzo laughs; that kind that bubbles from his chest and catches him off guard. He never covers his smile in time, so he sits there shaking with laughter and grinning. Jesse loves it; it’s infectious. Decades of living together and still Jesse never got tired of watching his eyes light up so beautifully. Nearly takes his breath away every time.

“You were the one who would not stop talking,” Hanzo replied, cheeks flushed from laughter. He removed the pipe from his mouth, placing it on the table next to him. He leaned closer, placing a chapped kiss on his forehead. “You are lucky I did  _ anything _ to you, the way you were running your mouth.”

“Hey, I was  _ nervous _ ,” McCree defended, looking out in the pitch black night before them. Even miles away a hover car with LED lights flashed both of them. After it sputtered past, it was quiet once again, save for the soft sound of their harmonizing wind chimes. He sighed and closed his eyes, contented smile spreading across his face. “We didn’t know each other back then. Don’t know if I even liked ya’.”

Hanzo made a soft noise of consideration, pulling Jesse closer into him until he was tucked completely against his chest. He tangled their fingers together, placing them on Jesse’s chest.

“There was a lot not to like, I suppose,” He began sarcastically. “I was a better agent than you, a more capable fighter, I tried to kill Genji--”

“-- _ yeeeaaah _ , don’t know ‘bout all that. Was mostly the fratricide at the time.”

Hanzo loosened his grip fractionally. 

“I understand.”

Jesse glanced up at him; his husband was blinking slowly. He had gotten better over the years, dealing with what he did.  Therapy and medication helped both of them, but if he was being honest, the weed seemed to help the most. The nightmares had gotten better and were usually few and far between nowadays. He had even claimed that his relationship with Genji had never been better than it was now. He didn’t struggle to live as often as he used to.

Still, his husband had his complexes. He was still quick to anger, had a knack for trying to control things he shouldn’t; all the shit that was so intertwined with all the parts that Jesse loved, that he didn’t really mind. Jesse had his own demons, and he sure wasn’t one to judge. They always moved with each other like waves. When one of them got too close to shore, the other would bring them back in; to remind each other that everything was okay. To remind them that they loved each other.

For Hanzo, appearing weak for even a moment was still taboo. It made moments of total honesty rare. McCree had stopped taking it personally a long time ago. Occasionally, he opened up, though. They came out in short bursts, sometimes after breakdowns, but usually randomly. McCree was well versed enough to know when they were coming. He waited patiently.

“Do you--How--,” Hanzo shut his mouth with a loud  _ click _ . From the position that Jesse was lying against him, he could feel him grinding his teeth. He just waited, squeezing his hand encouragingly. His husband took a deep breath. “Do you know how much you mean to me?”

Jesse blinked. He wasn’t expecting that.

He shifted to look up at the man, -- Hanzo was the only man he’d ever known who looked gorgeous upside down, nose hairs and all -- who wouldn't look at him.

“I’d like t’ think so,” Jesse started. “What with all the ‘I love yous’.” He kept his tone casual, but intent enough to not discourage Hanzo from continuing.

“Jess, I know what you must have thought of me when we first met. I cannot imagine it was kind--” Jesse opened his mouth to argue, but Hanzo held up a finger for him to wait. He finally glanced over at him, his expression a mixture of adoration and pain. “That does not matter, that is not my point.

“I need you to know that--that the pain I have endured and caused has become more bearable since I met you. You have not washed away any of that, but being with you had reigni--” He paused a moment and shaking his head. “ _ Ignited _ my excitement for life and all the highs and lows that come with it.”

Hanzo grabbed the sides of Jesse’s face with his two hands, closing his eyes.

“Jesse McCree, you are my best friend and my soulmate. I am grateful for all the hardships I have faced, because it all lead to you,” He spoke gently, something that was rare for him, a small smile on his lips. “‘I love you’ can not even begin to describe what I feel for you.”

Then he kissed him. After the intensity of his words, McCree was expecting something prolonged, demanding; not unlike their first kiss. Instead, it was brief, loving, and a little awkward considering it was upside down. It as if he had just told him he was running to the store for some milk, or perhaps giving him a kiss goodnight. Afterwards, he just looked at Jesse with an expression of love and adulation. There was such adoration in his eyes, even though Jesse knew that his face was twisted and ugly as he uncontrollably sobbed. Hanzo just held him close, wiping his tears and telling him he loved him.

Finally, when Jesse pulled away, he immediately slapped Hanzo on the thigh. His husband jumped away, giddiness rolling off him as he cried out in surprise. He was grinning like a loon, and a beautiful one at that.

“ _ Don’t _ do that to me when I’m high, Hanzo!” Jesse screeched, voice breaking and wavering. “You  _ know _ how I get, you asshole!”

Hanzo laughed, holding up his hands to surrender when McCree turned to him and glared. Jesse wiped his tears and snot away with his shirt sleeve, leaning his elbows on his thighs and putting his head in his hands. Then, sighing heavily, he got to his feet. Hanzo didn’t move, but he was still shaking with laughter. 

McCree glowered down at him, thrusting a hand out and pointing to their front door.

“All right, git!” He commanded, gesturing to the door again. Hanzo looked briefly confused. McCree groaned in exasperation. “ _ Get _ inside. I’m gonna suck your dick.”

Hanzo barked out a shocked laugh.

“What?”

“ _ I said what I said _ . I’m too high to respond to any o’ that with words,” He explained, rather unnecessarily in his opinion. Hanzo was already getting to his feet, an idiot, smug expression on his dumb, gorgeous face. “Which you  _ should know after thirty years _ , fuckwad. So, I’m gonna suck your dick, we’re gonna eat dinner, and tomorrow I’m gonna make you breakfast in bed. You  _ piece _ of  _ shit _ .”

Hanzo hummed, wrapping his arms around Jesse’s waist and kissing his neck briefly. A hand trailed downwards to pinch his ass. Jesse tried in vain to keep from grinning.

“We are eating first,” Hanzo said quietly, already pulling away and walking inside. “I am hungry.”

McCree’s stomach rumbled, nodding to himself and following him inside.

Springing ‘I love you cannot even begin to describe what I feel for you’ on him. Who did this guy think he was?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey!! thanks for reading!!! the next chapter is short and sweet, go give it a read.
> 
> do you like roadrat and believe that there isn't enough actual crack addict junkrat representation? [read the other fic we're working on together ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15788142/chapters/36737484)


	2. Fuck you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Would say it’s a pleasure to meet ya’, but it ain’t.”

Who did this guy think he was?

Wrapping his arm around Genji, pulling him away from him. Like he was some kind of monster, as if he was not his own flesh and blood. What kind of nerve he must have; treating him the way he was, dressed as he was. The man was a walking caricature.

The stranger maintained a vice grip on his brother, the brim of his absurd hat cast a shadow over his expression. Hanzo could only assume it was a threatening as his body language. How obnoxious.

“McCree,” Hanzo’s eyes flickered to Genji when he finally spoke, maybe noticing the tension between the two. Maybe he was completely aloof to the situation that was unfolding before the four of them. It was hard to tell with his face obstructed. He was facing the cowboy, though. “This is my brother, Hanzo. He will be joining us.”

The man who looked ready to lunge at him spoke. His voice made it seem like he had just gargled a handful of gravel and swallowed it.

“Yeah, figured,” He finally let go of Genji, flicking the brim of his hat upwards and looking Hanzo up and down. He’d seen the expression far too many times before; he was assessing whether or not he was a threat. Hanzo resented him for it, scoffing at him. “Would say it’s a pleasure to meet ya’, but it ain’t.”

Genji leaned forward, inserting himself between them. Hanzo spoke before he could.

“The feeling is mutual,” Hanzo responded coolly.

The cowboy’s nostrils flared, and he opened his mouth to say something undoubtedly idiotic. Genji then interrupted, ushering him away with the short-haired woman who talked too much. Hanzo glared at McCree even as they walked away.

“I’m watchin’ ya, Shimada!” The buffoon yelled after them.

Something must have come over him, because for some reason he raised an arm over his head and stuck up his middle finger in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ link up with me on twitter!](https://twitter.com/youjokebut)


	3. Brother with Baggage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Believe me when I say, I want to fix this. I want to fix what our family has broken. It will be the ultimate, uh, fuck you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey uh times flies you're convincing yourself to get invested enough in hanzo as a character to write 6k words about him. this is a honker of a chapter so get ready the 7 ppl who will read this. also. i love you all. happy holidays.  
> a couple warnings bc this is a heavy chapter:  
> 1) hanzo is a pretty severe alcoholic and his addiction is referenced several times in this chapter. please read at your own risk  
> 2) brief mention of suicide, but it was not written with that intention. reading it over again, it might be perceived as such and i want any readers to stay safe out there  
> 3) hanzo has this pretty weird and scary hallucination of his dad. it's pretty spooky idk

Seeing Genji again for the first time in a decade was _jarring_ to say the least.

His brother, the one he had killed decades ago. The one in his recurring nightmares that he would never admit to. The one that he paid tribute to every year on the day of his death. The reason why he drank. He was the same in all the ways that he was different. He was and was not the brother he knew.

Mostly because of his omnic body.

He wondered blatantly that if his grief-stricken mind conjured up a fantasy of him and what he was seeing now was the real Genji. Was his brother always half-robot? Was Hanzo? Maybe that was what made the whole ordeal so unpleasant. That, or the decades of self-induced suffering over his dead-sike!-actually-alive brother and cheap, 95% proof sake, was what made Hanzo stare at his brother in disbelief for ten, achingly silent minutes.

“ _Brother_ ,” His brother sounded surprised, looking him up and down. It had been a while since Hanzo had been spoken to in Japanese; it brought back unpleasant memories. So he winced, clutching his flask closer to him. “You look...well.”

Genji looked sad as he said it. Hanzo laughed bitterly.

“My brother would never lie so obviously to my face,” Hanzo pointed out, struggling to get to his feet. His brother offered a hand, but he growled when the hand got closer to steady him. He stumbled to his feet, glaring at the other man. “You are doing a poor job of convincing me this is not an assassination attempt or hallucination.”

There was a brief moment of silence between the two. Hanzo blamed the alcohol when he was the first to break it.

“Are you taller?”

“Yes,” Genji answered after a brief, confused silence. “ I do not see how--”

“You have never been taller than me.”

“We have not seen each other in _twenty years_ \--”

“In fact, you have always been shorter than me.”

“--and this is what you to talk about with me, as if--”

“Did you ask whoever made your cybernetic body to make you taller than me?”

“--nothing has happened.”

Again, there was a tense silence between them.

“Tell me I am wrong.” Hanzo demanded, swaying on his feet and pointing the sake at him, accusatory. Some of it splashed towards Genji, who had to step out of the way. Hanzo raised an eyebrow, leaning forward expectantly. Genji finally caved, sighing.

“I cannot.”

“Ah-ha!” Hanzo cried out, a wave of pride washing over him in one of his lowest moments. “I knew it. Did they finally give you a big di--?”

“ _Hanzo_ , I came here to speak with you,” Genji spoke with an amount of authority that was reminiscent of their father. Hanzo sobered up embarrassingly quickly. His brother must have noticed, because his eyebrow furrowed worriedly and he slightly backed up. “But not like--when you are like this.”

Drunk Hanzo shoved down Sober Hanzo’s shame and anger with a insurmountable amount of strength.

“There is no better time, brother.”

“There are far better times--”

“Speak your piece.” Hanzo knew he sounded desperate, but it was hard to care considering the circumstances. Genji still seemed wary, so Hanzo followed up with a gruff, “Please.”

His brother seemed briefly shocked.

Finally his brother spoke.

“Overwatch needs you--”

Hanzo scoffed.

“I doubt a disbanded international government organization needs an ex-Yakuza drug lord.”

“I thought you wanted me to speak.”

Hanzo sniffed, disgruntled. He put on a show of zipping his lips, almost falling to the ground with the exaggerated movement. He expected the disgust he usually received for his state, but his brother did not bless him we anything but a blank expression.

“Overwatch _needs_ you, Hanzo. Not you, specifically, but people with your expertise as an assassin and an archer. Something bad is coming, brother. And it is time to pick sides.

“I know of our past, especially yours but I--” Genji paused, trying to find the right words. Hanzo blinked at him slowly, biting the inside of his cheek absentmindedly. “Perhaps I am a fool to think there is still hope for you, but I do. _Overwatch_ needs bodies, but _I_ need you.”

“Believe me when I say, I want to fix this,” he gestured between the two of them. Hanzo’s heart leaped to his throat and his stomach dropped. He wanted to--? “I want to fix what our family has broken. I believe it will be the ultimate, uh, _fuck you._  I wanted to ask if you would accept my--”

Yes, he thought. _Yes._

“Yes.” he croaked. Genji stared at him at disbelief.

“You are drunk--”

“If I was not, I would not be able to tell you the truth.”

Genji sighed.

“I know this. However, I will not accept an answer until you are you.”

Usually, Hanzo found it imperative to do some more research before heeding his brother’s advice to join him. But, his vague warning of a new age coming, left him out of sorts. Even in the morning, with a full-bodied hangover, Hanzo took a brief break from vomiting up his last five meals, to confirm that he was still in.

The chance at a new beginning with Genji proved far more important than delving into a couple months of research. Besides, there was not much information released to the public that was not fabricated or altered in some way. It was a government organization, they tended to do that. He would be able to gather more information by joining his brother than keeping to himself for an undetermined amount of time.

They briefly discussed -- both of them painfully sober -- a trial period; Hanzo would join Genji for a couple months, get a feel for Overwatch, and decide if he wanted to join or not. Or, alternatively, if _they_ wanted him. He was also limited to two drinks a night, which he hesitantly agreed to. Once he had put his affairs in order, a cargo ship would be sent to pick him up within the next following days. So, he faked his alias’ death, died his hair back to its original color, and even cleaned up a bit. He contacted Genji after the funeral, and before he knew it, he was thrust into life at Overwatch Headquarters.

He was regretting it, to say the least.

Their strike commander was a monkey. A highly intelligent monkey, but a _monkey_.

“He is a _gorilla_ , brother,” His brother chided him goodnaturedly in their native tongue. Hanzo glanced at him, arching an eyebrow. It still sounded odd coming from someone other than his drunk reflection. “Please, do not be so vile.”

“I am not being--,” Hanzo cut himself off, tablet in his hands as he tapped through the briefing of current Overwatch agents. Even from beneath his mask, he could feel Genji’s gaze boring into the side of his face. Maybe he was seeking approval from his brother, not unlike when they were younger. Maybe that was just wishful thinking. “It is just not often that you see a scientist of his... _caliber_.”

Genji snorted. He excused himself to go talk to the pilot. She went by the call sign Tracer, for some reason. He didn’t bother to learn her real name. If it wasn’t used on missions then it wasn’t relevant to him. He didn’t plan staying longer than need be; Genji was the priority and he didn’t care to get to know the other agents.

Hanzo stared down at the tablet below him; _Winston_ , strike-commander, scientist, and mon-- _gorilla_ . _Torbjörn_ , previously chief engineer, weapons designer, and World of Warcraft character. _McCree_ , former Blackwatch, bounty hunter, and apparently one of the Village People. _Symmetra_ , former Vishkar--

In English this time, “Whispering to yourself, brother?”

“It is rare that I travel with company,” Hanzo responded, without missing a beat. He avoided Genji’s blank expression. He continued to flip through the tablet, not really soaking in any of the information. “I have become accustomed to my own company. I will adjust my behavior accordingly.”

There was a brief, but uncomfortable silence.

“Hanzo you do not need to--”

“Really, I do not mind. I do not want to bring any discomfort--”

“Hanzo, you will not--”

“Genji,” He growled warningly, nodding to the back of Tracer’s head, indicating that this was not a conversation to be had in front of a complete stranger. “When I say I do not mind, then I do not mind.”

His brother tensed at his tone, stood a little straighter and nodded curtly. It was similar to how he used to present himself to their father, but without an exaggerated bow. He turned away from him, leaning against the back of the pilot’s chair, hanging his head slightly. Hanzo turned back to his tablet, trying not to show his surprise. He had expected an argument, or at least for his brother to tell him off.  Instead, he remained silent. It almost frustrated Hanzo more.

Tracer cleared her throat.

“You know, Shimada-san, we’re a bit of a ragtag bunch.” She giggled awkwardly, pressing a button quickly and turning her chair around to face him. He eyed her warily, hoping she had pressed the autopilot. She grinned at him, hunching over and putting her elbows on her knees. “We all got our quirks, me especially. Talking to yourself isn’t bad in the slightest. This is a judgement-free zone!”

Hanzo narrowed his eyes, having the feeling she was referring to something closer in the “killing his brother” department.

“I believe I should consider myself lucky then, shouldn’t I?” He commented dryly.

\--

After the warm welcome from Genji’s self-proclaimed “best friend” and Overwatch’s most esteemed agent, Mc--”Clint Eastwood with Worse Breath”--Cree, Hanzo was shown to his quarters. It was small and dingy but was more than what he expected. He was provided a bed, with extra sheets and blankets, a sleek black desk, and a dresser to match. He was also gifted some clothes which were unsurprisingly branded by Overwatch. He picked them up and felt them between his fingers; the material was thin, soft. Cheap.

Hanzo leaned his quiver and his guitar case against the desk.

“Are you not having a budget crisis?”

Genji hummed as Hanzo turned to him. He was hovering by the door, arms behind his back. Unnatural.

“Well, yes. Why do you--?”

“You are an illegal organization and you are giving away your own merchandise.”

His brother chuckled hollowly, the whirring sound his body made picked up in pitch as he did.

“Yes, I suppose you're right. I found that strange too when I first arrived. Angela claims they are for morale, though I believe it started because Torbjörn refused to wear shirts because he didn’t want to do laundry.”

Hanzo snorted, setting his duffle down onto the bed and opening it. He started pulling out some clothes, his toiletries, miscellaneous weaponry. He unsheathed his kaiken, inspecting it briefly. It was due for a polish, but otherwise looked undamaged from the plane ride. He slipped it back into its cover and set it on his bed. Searching through his duffle slow, relaxed, as to not arouse suspicion from his brother. When he found his flask, he tried not to show his relief.

“Angela is Overwatch’s resident medic,” Genji spoke as Hanzo thrusted his flask back into the bottom of his duffle. “You will need to go through an entry examination with her before you are sent on missions. Both physical and psychiatric.”

Hanzo scoffed, continuing to pull out his clothes and set them on the bed.

“I hope it goes well.” He muttered, sarcastically.

“Me too.” Genji responded earnestly. Hanzo turned, holding a stack of clothes, and gave him a pointed look. He walked carefully to the dresser they provided him, and started putting them away. Genji ignored him, shifting from one foot the other.

It was plainly obvious that he wanted to say something.

“What.” Hanzo demanded, having set down his clothes in favor of standing directly in front of his brother. Genji, mask off, started at him, expression unreadable.

“Angela is also...the reason I am still alive.” he explained, keeping eye contact with Hanzo, until Hanzo had to look away. His brother gestured to himself, saying, “She is the reason for all of this.”

Hanzo didn't have a reaction at first. He couldn't muster one. He understood why Genji was telling him this; his brother expected the doctor to have a reaction. It was unlikely he went twenty years with this organization without actually telling anyone the reason he had to get vital organs replaced, especially the person who provided him with those organs. He was preparing Hanzo to not be blindsided by her reaction like he was with the cowboy. It left a bad taste in his mouth, a curling feeling of regret threatening to swallow him whole.

Then, he nodded, smiling slightly: he had been trained for this.

“I am looking forward to meeting her, then.” He responded easily, turning his back to his brother. He continued to unpack his clothes casually, but he knew his face would give him away. He stared at a specific spot on his comforter until his vision began to dance before him. Still, he kept his voice light and nonchalant. “I must thank her for all her hard work.”

He should have expected Genji to pick up on the signs. He had been trained the same way.

“Brother, I--”

“Let us save this for tomorrow morning.” Hanzo interrupted him, trying to remain cheerful. He turned towards him with a strained smile on his face. Genji looked upon him with a openly worried expression. Hanzo was jealous of it. “It has been a long, eventful day for me, after all.”

“Will you not come to dinner? Everyone is--”

“No, thank you.”

“Mei made something for your arrival.” That was most likely spit into, his mind helpfully supplied. “Ochazuke. It is nothing special, but it is the only thing every one could agree on having. The new recruit, Hana, has specific tastes.”

Hanzo’s entire body ached for a drink.

“Genji, I am all right. I am tired.”

“I understand, brother, but I really think you would benefit--”

“No,” Hanzo barked back, his patience growing thin. Genji immediately shut his mouth and the blank expression was back. He looked upon his brother warily, raising an eyebrow and forcing himself to relax. “I really need to rest. I will meet everyone at a later date.”

“Okay.” Genji’s voice cracked as he spoke.

“Okay.” Hanzo pretended not to notice.

“Goodnight, brother.”

“Goodnight.”

It took all of ten seconds for Genji to make his exit. It took Hanzo all of eleven seconds to watch him go, grab his flask, and begin desperately chugging it. It took eleven more seconds to polish off the bottle and look upon his room with distaste. Three seconds to shove his luggage off the bed. Five seconds to unsheath his kaiken and throw it against the wall. When it bounced off of the windowless, stainless steel walls, it took him six seconds to use it to rip his pillow in half with it. Then he stood at the foot of his bed for thirty seconds with his head in his hands waiting for the walls to start caving in.

\--

Hanzo liked being drunk.

He didn’t have to worry about anything. It meant he didn’t have to think. Or overthink.

But, Drunk Hanzo was used to stumbling through the streets of Busan while drunk. Here, he felt cooped up. He tried to keep himself entertained; first attempting to meditate before he got too wasted. Three minutes in, he began laughing uncontrollably for a reason that he couldn’t remember and gave up. Next, he listened to Freddie Mercury & Montserrat Caballé’s “Barcelona” six times on repeat at the highest volume his headphones could muster. When that didn’t work, he practiced some tai chi. Noticing that he was doing too well for a drunk person, so he began search for more alcohol to remedy that.

He didn’t know what time it was, but the hallways outside his quarters were barren. The lights above him had motion sensors, which was annoying. That made would make it hard for him to sneak out when he inevitably needed to. Right now, though. He didn’t care, he had a one track mind.

From the hallway, he went to check the kitchen. He checked the cupboards, the freezer, and even the dishwasher. The entire place was dry; Hanzo could have sworn that Prohibition was in the United States from 1920 and 1933 and not in Switzerland from 2075 to 2075. He could be mistaken, though.

When he didn’t find any, he came to the most logical conclusion: to leave. His six and half hours at Overwatch was eventful, but it was clear that it wasn’t working out. The only problem was that he didn’t know where the exit was. He would have to use his instincts and cunning to find his way out of this highly protected government base.

He leant against the walls for support on his way out of the kitchen and decided that he was too tired. He sank to the floor, leaning his head back on the wall. It was no alleyway in the business district, but it was familiar and it would have to do.

He let his eyes close for a moment. Next time he opened them, he was being kicked in the chest.

Groggily, he blinked up to find the cowboy from earlier glaring down at him. What was his name? Cowboy, cows, cows on farms, Old McDonald had one at one point--

“Greetings, McGuire.”

The man above him scoffed, and though he was clearly awake and speaking to him, kicked Hanzo again.

“Not even close, asshat.”

Hanzo sat up with a groan, too drunk to accept the hand offered to him. He almost knocked himself back over when he attempted to get to his feet faster than he should have. MacGyver caught him easily, pushing him against the wall until he was steady. Hanzo hummed gratefully, focusing his blurry gaze on the other man’s face.

McHenry had this thing about his face that made him always look angry. Either that or he just was angry.

His skin seemed severely sun damaged, even with his darker complexion. Small freckles dusted his cheeks and jaw, the bags under his eyes intermingling with his sunspots, his lips were a mess -- cut and cracked, but otherwise, very nice. The man had wrinkles on his forehead, probably from how often he wore the expression he had now. But, Hanzo also noticed laugh lines. He absently wondered if he would ever get to see him laughing. If he could do that, then maybe he could get Genji to as well. The thought made him smile.

“What’re you grinnin’ at?” McCulloch’s voice was gruff, but curious. He spoke with a far more exaggerated drawl than from before. Hanzo eyes flicked down to the flask that was in the cowboy’s hand.

Ah, so they were in the same predicament. That made this easier.

“I have been told--” Hanzo paused to burp. “People are more likely to do what you wish them to do when you first do it yourself. It is like, a mirroring thing.”

McLovin pushed his hat back, so now Hanzo could fully take in his expression. It wasn’t a positive one; the man looked at him like he was Ernest Hemingway aggressively trying to justify being a straight man while also wanting to be pegged by his wife. While he was being scrutinized, Hanzo came to the conclusion that his eyes were pretty.

“You want me to smile.” The cowboy clarified.

“Yes,” Hanzo responded, unbothered by the other man’s hesitance. Then he smiled a bit wider. “Just like I am. Do you see?”

“Yeah, I see.”

“Do it then.”

“I--no.”

“Why?”

“I hate you.”

Hanzo’s smile fell and thought about that for a minute. Then he shrugged and nodded.

“That is fair.”

His response was met with a snort. Mc--uh, McCowboy--McCree! McCree looked upset with himself for laughing. Hanzo wanted to tell him that it was okay, that he was just that hilarious, and to not shame himself for thinking so. But McCree spoke before he could.

“What’re you doin’ here?” McCree asked, seeming uninterested in his answer. Hanzo was expecting a more hostile approach, based on their interaction earlier that day.

Hanzo couldn’t help but notice that McCree composure seemed less tense. He wouldn’t describe him as _relaxed_ , but he didn’t seem incredibly upset with him. Whatever the reason for it, Hanzo was pleased to have put him at relative ease.

“I was planning on leaving.”

“Leaving?”

“Is there an echo?”

McCree laughed again, trying to pass it off as a scoff.

“You can’t leave, Shimada.” The cowboy decided, pushing Hanzo back against the wall when he noticed that he started leaning forward. His touch was warm and Hanzo was already too warm, so he shook him off. McCree didn’t seem to notice, or care. “I ain’t lettin’ ya. Let’s get you back to your room.”

McCree began walking in the direction of his quarters. Hanzo stumbled behind him, confused.

“But you do not like me.”

“ _Cooo-_ rrect on that one, chief.” McCree confirmed cheekily, hanging onto the beginning of the word for longer than necessary.  “I hate ya.”

That aggravated Hanzo. He believed he was being condescending. To Shimada Hanzo of all people. Sober Hanzo was not going to be pleased in the morning.

“Yes, you hate me.” Hanzo adjusted his word choice anyway. “You would be happy if I left.”

“Yeah, I would.”

They stopped in front of Hanzo’s door. McCree looked amused at the annoyance written across Hanzo’s expression. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, obviously trying to appear even bigger than Hanzo. For the first time in his life, Hanzo wished he wasn’t drunk, just to spite the smug bastard.

“Then why--”

“Because--” McCree interrupted, smirking. Hanzo would bet good money on the other man waiting for him to speak just so he could interrupt him. “Genji wants you here. I _hate_ you, but I love Genji.”

It took a bit for Hanzo to catch up. Mostly because that was the stupidest excuse he had ever heard.

“Well, I am glad to hear that Genji has such loyal friends.” He finally remarked dryily.

McCree didn’t hide his amusement this time.

“Bet you are. Here, take this.”

He handed over his flask. Hanzo opened it, more hurriedly than he would’ve liked to in front of another person -- let alone a coworker. McCree for all his faults, didn’t look on him with anything other than unbridled hate in his eyes. At least there seemed to be no judgement. Hanzo would take what he would get. Then he sniffed what was in the bottle. It smelled like nail polish.

“Moonshine. Made it myself. ‘S good, it’ll knock you right out.”

Hanzo didn’t really know what to say, so he said what he thought he was expected to.

“Thank you.”

The cowboy rolled his eyes.

“No skin off my ass. The more you drink, the more of a chance you’ll die.”

Hanzo sighed, not really knowing what he expected.

“Goodnight, McCree.” He said, turning his back to the other man and typing in his passcode. He hadn’t reset it from the 1111 code he was given. Mostly because he didn’t know how. He assumed McCree noticed this from the amused huff behind him.

“Goodnight, Shimada.” McCree tipped his hat and winked. “Make sure to sleep on your back so you can choke on your vomit.”

“Fuck you, McCree.” Hanzo responded, tiredly, as he finally closed the door behind him.

He stared at the other man’s flask in his hand for a long time. Though his body ached for a drink to stave of the humiliation and general feeling of loneliness, he set the flask down on the dresser opposite of his bed. In the end, his pride won out. He laid his head down on one of the halves of his torn pillow and huffed. This would be the last time that anyone would ever make _him_ feel inferior.

\--

“Are you sexually active?”

Hanzo gave the doctor a blank look.

Dr. Ziegler eyed him over her bifocals, tapping her pen on her clipboard. She waited for his answer.

He sighed.

“No.”

She hummed, “I didn’t think so.”

“Then why did you--”

“Do you take any prescription medications you wish to disclose?” She turned her back to him, marking something on her clipboard. Silently fuming, he shook his head. She ignored him. “And please note, I said _prescription_ , any other measures you take to self-medicate should be taken up with Zenyatta.”

He gritted his teeth. “Okay.”

“Also, please be sure he is aware of any recreational drugs you make take.”

“I will be sure to.”

“Seeing as you have a problem with that.”

“Why do you insist on making this difficult?” He demanded in a half shout. He head was pounding, he was exhausted, and starving. He didn’t have the patience for this. She turned to him, looking entirely unimpressed. “I understand you do not think highly of me, however--”

Dr. Ziegler scoffed, slamming her clipboard down on the metallic table beside her. The resounding _clank_ that resulted echoed all throughout the tiny room and stunned him into silence. It was so loud, Hanzo wouldn’t be surprised if any neighboring agents had heard it.

“‘Do not think highly of you’ is an understatement, Shimada,” She growled, stalking closer to him with every word. “I--absolutely--despise--you. You--” She shoved a slim, pale finger in the middle of his chest, hard. “--don’t deserve to breathe the same air as the rest of us. You don’t deserve to be here.”

“You walk around with your head hung, you _mope_ , you _drink_ , you _complain_ ,” Every word was spit into his face. She paused, giving him one long, venomous glare. She threw her hands up in exasperation before pulling an exaggerated frown and wiped fake tears. “‘Poor me! I am sad! I killed my own brother but I have--” She snivelled pitfully, clearly doing a poor impersonation of him. “-- _depression’_.”

Then her mood dropped significantly and suddenly. Her glare was so murderous, he flinched when she spoke again.

“You did not see what he was like after. He could barely--” She cut herself off with a sigh, turning away from him to lean against the table. Her head hung between her arms. When she spoke next, her voice was tight. “I had been in the field twenty years before I met him, and I had never seen something so gruesome.”

“He would not stop crying. He woke up several times during the surgeries calling your name. Screaming for you, demanding why you did it. He should have hated you, and yet...”

She turned around to face him again with rekindled rage, face streaked with tears.

“Yet he never did. If someone were to ask him even an hour after you maimed him, he would say he forgave you. Even with all his rage and pain, he would never say he hated you. Why, I could not possibly understand.”

Neither could Hanzo.

Dr. Ziegler walked up to him again, tone low, threatening. As if she was issuing a warning.

“So, you do not _get_ to be mopey. You do not _get_ to ruin your life. You do not _get_ to kill yourself with drugs and alcohol. As much as anyone here may want you dead, as much as _you_ may want to die, you do not _get_ to.

“Because if you go down, no matter what you may say or do, you will be taking him down with you.”

Hanzo was stunned into silence.

“Now,” She began slowly, walking over to the table and picking up her clipboard once again. She didn’t look at him, only securing his bifocals back on the edge of her nose. Pausing briefly, she read aloud something on the chart. “Are you up-to-date on all your vaccinations?”

“No,” He croaked. “My father did not believe in vaccinating.”

She grunted.

“That explains a lot,” She muttered, flipping through his chart once again. “Well, they are required if you want to join Overwatch. You will come tomorrow at eight and the next day at the same time to receive all your vaccinations.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“We are done here,” She took off her bifocals and looked him over. “Are you able to stand?”

Hanzo thought about it for a minute, before shaking his head. She breathed an aggravated sigh, as if she wasn’t the one who caused th--no. He was the one who caused it. _He_ was the one who killed Genji. She was just the one who reminded him of it. He had to get better at that.

“Then I will send Zenyatta in.”

“Thank you, Dr. Ziegler.”

“You are welcome.” She responded. Hanzo would call her smug if he wasn’t terrified to.

Clearly having dealt with her fair share of panic attacks, Dr. Ziegler turned out the lights before she made her exit.

He was privately grateful, he had not allowed himself to cry in several years and he didn’t necessarily want to watch himself do so. With his limited sight, his other senses were heightened. His chest seized as he panted, hands tensing into fists. He smelled as disgusting as he felt, he was desperately in need of a shower. And to punch something. Maybe himself. God, he needed a drink--

He hissed as the lights turned on again.

An omnic floated into the room. Even without a conventional face, he looked to be smiling. Lights on his forehead glowed a serene light blue. He looked familiar, but he couldn’t place exactly where he had seen him before.

“Hello, Hanzo. I am Zenyatta,” The doctor said. His voice felt like a breath of fresh air compared to Dr. Ziegler. “I must apologize for Angela’s behavior. You see, what she lacks in bedside manner she makes up her ability to destroy someone’s self-confidence.”

Hanzo didn’t respond. He was aware he was staring.

“That was an attempt at a joke,” Zenyatta informed him cheerfully. “It may have been ill-timed.”

Hanzo shook his head, allowing himself to blink and clear his mind. Once again he turned towards the omnic, getting to his feet and bowing respectfully to him.

“My apologies. It was, ah, funny.”

Zenyatta chuckled, an airy, whirring sound, similar to Genji’s.

“There is no need to lie,” He replied good-naturedly. “Please, take a seat.”

Hanzo did as he said. Zenyatta pulled up a seat and sat crossed legged across from him. He stared up at him calmly, bringing hands together into a prayer pose before placing them on his lap, one on top of the other. Hanzo squinted at him, still trying to think of why the man struck so much familiarity. Where did he know this guy from?

“Angela briefed me on your medical situation, and seeing as it is only your second day, I do not want you to feel overwhelmed,” Too late, Hanzo thought. “However, I do believe, given your past and your present situation, you would benefit from therapy. How do you feel about that?”

Even the word itself made Hanzo immediately defensive.

“Initially, your brother was against it, as well. I will give you time to think.”

“I--thank you, doctor.”

“Doctor is so formal. Zenyatta is far more agreeable with me,” Zenyatta dismissed him with a smile. It looked odd with his lipless, metallic mouth. Hanzo didn’t say anything about it, though. Instead he nodded with a small smile of his own. He could imagine it looked like more of a grimace.

“In an attempt to possibly convince you further, every agent sees a therapist,” He continued, smile never leaving his face. “Seeing as Overwatch is lacking in funds, we assist anybody interested in receiving outside treatment. However, to do so they have to create alternate identities, which I understand you are no stranger to.”

Hanzo nodded his confirmation, though he felt it wasn’t necessary.

“Though with your particular situation, I feel it would be better to meet with someone you can be entirely honest with. At least at first. So, you will be meeting with me. Once you show improvements, we can seek some resources outside Overwatch.”

 _Once_ he showed improvements seemed to be wishful thinking, but he grunted in acknowledgement.

“Do you have any questions for me?”

After a brief silence between them, Hanzo said, quietly:

“I need to go to bathroom.”

Zenyatta smiled serenely back at him, and gestured to the door and gave him directions.

Instead, he walked to his quarters and locked the door behind him. Finally, he felt the tears building up finally roll down his cheeks as he choked on a silent sob. He laid on his bed, curled his knees up to his chest, and pulled his blanket over him. Sitting in the darkness, he finally allowed himself to weep.

He didn’t drink.

\--

“I thought I might find you here.”

Hanzo released the bow, driving it directly into the head of the TrainingBot.

It wasn’t as satisfying as flesh.

“Did you?” He grumbled under his breath.

He gazed blankly down at Athena’s bots cleaning up the remnants of the TrainingBot. As if noticing his impatience, they scrambled to sweep up the pieces and get out of his line of fire. Another TrainingBot quickly replaced the former. He could’ve sworn that this one was gliding faster away from him, like it was running.

He chuckled mirthlessly, raising his chin and knocking an arrow.

Without even directly looking at his next target, he sunk the arrow through its chest, causing it to explode into springs, screws, and shrapnel. The TrainingBot let out pained screech as what was remaining collapsed to the floor. Only then, did he allow himself to relax. He shrugged off his quiver, placing it on the floor beside him. He laid his Storm Bow carefully on the ground next to it. He informed Athena that he was finished.

“Session Completed. Time Elapsed: _6 hours, 23 minutes, and 16 seconds_.”

He heard Genji hum disapprovingly from behind him.

“You should not overexert yourself,” He chided him, his voice getting closer with every echoed footstep. Hanzo didn’t turn to face him, looking down at polished the floor and frowning. “It is four in the morning, did you sleep at all last night?”

“What do you care?” Hanzo muttered, bitterly.

Finally, after two long, painstaking weeks, _finally_ , he struck a nerve.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Hanzo?”

Hanzo’s head was pounding, he had broken out into a cold sweat around hour three of his training. He had ignored it, but without the welcomed distraction of target practice it was becoming harder to. Lazily blinking, he kept his gaze trained on the ground, even as his vision began to swirl. He felt as if he was about to pass out. This was a feeling that he was used to, though. It was all too familiar, almost comforting.

Belatedly, he realized Genji was still speaking. Well, _yelling_ at him.

“If I did not care for you I would not be here right now. Do you think I get up this early in the morning? I woke up to look for _you_ ,” Genji’s voice was low, threatening. There was a brief hiss of steam, indicating that his brother’s mask was being taken off. Hanzo raised his gaze, gasping at the vision he saw before him. From behind, his brother continued, yelling again. “I brought you here because I care, Hanzo. Of course I care for you…”

His voice was drowned out by the ringing in Hanzo’s ears.

Across the practice range, his father stood. Sojiro was wearing his navy hakama with his matching Haori. The Shimada crest was plastered on the right side of it and it almost seemed to increase in size the longer Hanzo gazed at it. His father had his long, greying hair done up, regal and elegant even as his expression was murderous. He was gazing at Genji, mouth turned up in a sneer.

Then, his arm was extending to hold a katana dripping with blood. His gaze travelled slowly from his brother to Hanzo. Once they had locked eyes, he raised his chin, looking down at him with piercing eyes.

“ _He is a traitor to his clan and his kin,_ ” His father spoke to him without opening his mouth. The apparition flashed closer to him without moving his feet until he was a mere inches away. “ _He must be taken care of_.”

Hanzo could hear himself speak, though his mouth didn’t move, his own voice sounding foreign to him. He recognized that it was still him but from a lifetime ago. There was still an innocent desperation in his voice.

“ _He is a child_.”

There was a sharp, familiar sound, causing Hanzo to flinch.

“ _He is a_ Shimada _,_ ” His father growled, another sharp, slapping sound following it. The apparition features twisted into rage and Hanzo felt a part of him that was buried deep inside cower away. “ _As are you. Have you no honor?_ ”

The katana disappeared and reappeared back into his grip. His father gazed down at him, impassively sizing him up. Then he turned, done with him. Glancing over his shoulder, he spoke to Hanzo once more, face completely shrouded in shadow.

“ _You will kill him before supper._ ”

He spoke again.

“Yes, father.”

His brother’s muffled question brought him back to reality.

“What did you say?”

Finally, Hanzo turned around, mildly surprised to feel something solid still in his grip. Glancing down, he realized he was holding his kaiken. He didn’t remember bringing it with him. He hummed curiously in the back of his throat, blinking. He looked up at his brother. The look on his face made him immediately drop his weapon.

Since he had arrived, his brother had not been acting right. He was far more stoic than he used to be, difficult to anger. When they were younger, Hanzo knew all kinds of ways to get under his skin. While he was here, he had _tried_ to. If only to get a reaction out of his brother that wasn’t a blank stare or a fake laugh. Hanzo assumed it was because Genji was upset with him, dealing with the residual anger and sadness that followed the day of his attempted murder. If not that, maybe he was adjusting to being with him again after all the time they had spent apart. Maybe he had matured. Maybe it was a mixture of all three. But it wasn’t. It never had been.

Now, Hanzo cursed himself for not noticing it before.

 

His brother had been carefully guarding himself. The reason why he clammed up around Hanzo was not because he was upset with him. It was because he was upset with himself. Because he feared him.

Genji was _afraid_ of him.

The truth shouldn’t have affected him so much. But Hanzo felt his chest skewered with dread by the reality that he had made his own brother, his own flesh and blood, his _beloved brother_ terrified of him.

Millions of things to say swirled around in his head for a moment. He wanted to say that he was sorry, that he loved him, really _anything_ to prove to his brother how much he meant to him. How much he wanted to make things right.

Instead of anything of that, he settled on:

“Genji,” To anyone but his brother, his voice might have been described as calm and collected. But by the look on Genji’s face, he noticed the restrained emotion in his voice. “I have just realized we have not, ah….hugged yet.”

His brother, his little brother,  looked briefly confused, before he smiled. It was small, but it was genuine. It took every bit of Hanzo’s willpower to not break down in front of him right there. This was the first time in decades he had seen his brother smile. The sight brought back pleasant memories of arcades in summertime and comics during the rainy winter months. Times that Hanzo had forgotten he had sorely missed.

“You know what,” Genji said, smiling big enough now that there was a slight crinkle to the corner of his eyes. He looked like their mother. “I _had_ noticed.”

“Would you like to…?” He trailed off, not really know how or why he started this particular sentence. Genji waited patiently, still grinning. Hanzo almost rolled his eyes fondly. “Hug?”

“Sure. Would you?”

“Yes.” Hanzo responded without hesitation.

They slowly walked towards each other, meeting each other in the middle. It was undeniably awkward, and mostly on Hanzo’s part. Considering, they had stopped hugging when Hanzo had turned fourteen, they really had no idea how to go about it. Genji seemed a lot more skilled in, what Hanzo identified as, the art of “brotherly affection without showing love by constantly making the other feel inferior”. He wrapped his arms around Hanzo’s shoulder, pressing his head against his shoulder. Hanzo leaned against him, eyes wide and hands shaking.

When Hanzo started crying and babbling out gruff apologies, Genji didn’t say anything and he didn’t dare pull away. He just held him tighter and rocked them both side to side. They stayed like that for some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YA for reading. i'll also be publishing a cute little holiday themed chapter on the 24th. no sadness allowed. i look forward to seeing y'all then


	4. Obligatory Christmas Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes, but as my presence is usually the gift. I thought I would buy you something as an apology for missing our holiday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry chrysler

Jesse loved this part.

Don’t get him wrong, the sex was great too. Who is he kidding; the sex was mind-blowing. Incredible. Best he ever had in his forty-three years of living. He wouldn’t put his heart through the proverbial meat grinder three times a week if the sex wasn’t amazing. He loved the sex.

But the aftermath was hard to beat.

When he and Hanzo were laying side-by-side, boneless, giddiness escaping through peals of laughter, Jesse couldn’t honestly think of a place he’d rather be. Hanzo would turn to him, grinning like a loon without realizing it and crack a shitty joke dripping with sarcasm. Over the years, Jesse found himself laughing harder at every one, even when they weren’t that funny. That would make Hanzo puff up with pride, which was just objectively cute and he didn’t care who tried to argue with him. Or he would grin at him, which make Jesse’s heart flutter in his chest and stomach flip pleasantly.

Even before Hanzo, he was used to this whole rigmarole. A casual roll in the hay, the five or ten minutes of downtime afterwards, before he kicked the other person out. And that’s how it started with them, all those years ago. But, now that he was getting older, this casual shit was getting on his last nerve.

Not that he was going to do anything about it. He’d rather have Hanzo in some way then not at all.

He was too busy memorizing the muscles on Hanzo’s back to hear the other man’s question.

“Huh?”

Hanzo grunted, frustrated, and rolled over to face him. His eyebrows were furrowed in aggravation, his upper lip curled up into a sneer. He had long abandoned his hair tie so his greying hair was tangled up against the pillow. His face was still flushed from their previous activities and his glare was downright murderous. It was cute, McCree admitted to himself after a brief moment of disgust.

Jesse was well aware he was talking to him again, but he was far too distracted to pay attention. So, he just grinned, wide and stupid, and nodded. Hanzo rolled his eyes, but the twitch in his lips gave away his amusement. He sat up, leaning on his open palm and his elbow.

“Would you fucking listen to me?”

“No,” Jesse responded quickly, putting his hands behind his head. That earned him a punch in the gut, which he _giggled_ at and wiggled away from. Hanzo was staring down at him and smiling openly. McCree ignored the stutter in his chest at the unguarded expression on his face. “Okay, okay, je _sus_ , whatta want, princess?”

Hanzo hummed.

“If your head was filled with anything other than cigar smoke--” Jesse scoffed dismissively as he reached over Hanzo and grabbed another cigar. “You would have heard me asking what it is you would like.”

McCree breathed in as the flame hovered over the end of his cigarillo. Waving his hand, he put out the match and raised a curious eyebrow at Hanzo’s question. Then, offering it to the other man, he coughed out a question of his own.

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?””

While taking a drag, Hanzo rolled his eyes and flicked some ash onto Jesse’s bedspread. McCree pursed his lips and snatched it back, giving him a look. Sitting up, he smoked over the “I Like My Men Messy and My Whiskey Neat” ashtray in his lap.

“I will be away on that surveillance mission for the next four weeks,” the other man explained, as if that explained anything at all. When Jesse gave him what he imagined was another blank look, Hanzo sighed to once again non-verbally communicating that he was being a chore. He continued tiredly. “Next week is Christmas Eve. Since I will be gone, I wanted to get you a gift while I am in Dorado. And I am currently asking what you would like.”

“Why?” He asked after a beat. Hanzo looked at him like he had grown three heads.

“Because we are friends?”

“Sure, but we’ve never gotten gifts before.”

“Yes, but as my presence is usually the gift--” Jesse snorted and Hanzo shot him a look. “--I thought I would buy you something as an apology for missing our holiday.”

Now, he won’t lie, that freaked Jesse out.

Yes, he would admit that he and Hanzo had a loose tradition. It started about six years ago; both had met each other in the kitchen, drunk off their asses, on the night before Christmas at 4 AM. He doesn’t remember much of their night together, but it just kind of stuck. It wasn’t anything special, but it meant a lot more to him than he ever cared to admit. But Hanzo didn’t know that. He made sure he didn’t.

All they would do was spend the night of Christmas Eve together. It didn’t really matter what they did; sometimes they would watch movies, sometimes Jesse would drink and Hanzo would get high, but _whatever_ they did they would spend the night together. Two years ago, Hanzo suggested they celebrate his grandpappy’s passing like he and his mamá used to do. McCree had pretended not to cry and agreed to it, so they do that now. Hanzo usually brought abuelo his favorite tea or played some songs that reminded him of the holiday. Just generally some really heartfelt and sweet stuff. He didn’t know. Whatever.  
  
He didn’t know when he started getting defensive about their time together even to himself, but it looked like he was at that point now. 

“Jesse, are you--”

McCree already knew what he was going to ask and the answer was decidedly _no_.

“I don’t think we should have this conversation while I’m naked as the day I was born.”

Before Hanzo could say anything further he stubbed out his cigarillo into the ashtray and stood up. He pulled one of the sheets and wrapped it around his waist. Tripping over it, he stumbled his way to the dresser and opened his underwear drawer with a little too much force. In fact, his cybernetic arm actually pulled the drawer clean off. Instead of reacting like a normal person would, he just grabbed some briefs and dropped it onto the floor.

He could hear Hanzo shifting on the bed, his tone dripping with annoyance.

“What conversation do you believe we are having?”

As he slipped his underwear on, he dropped the sheet and turned around with his hands on his hips. His gaze glanced below Hanzo’s torso before he trained them just past his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the other man raise his eyebrow.

“Darlin’,” Jesse began, trying not to look down again. “Would kindly put on some pants?”

“It is nothing you have not seen before,” Hanzo scoffed and he had to admit, he had a point. Even so, he pulled up the comforter and wrapped it around his waist. Unfortunately, his torso was still very distracting. “McCree, what is wrong with you? Is everything okay?”

 _No,_ he screamed internally.

“Do you think you could cover yourself up more?” He asked instead, gesturing to all of Hanzo’s godlike body. The other man looked down at himself and then back up at Jesse, looking completely flabbergasted. And, also a little hurt. Jesse scrambled to find something even mildly funny to lighten the mood. “I can pull up the archives of wikihow to try to find out how to make a toga out a bedsheet.”

“Jesse,” Hanzo sounded desperate, his expression now twisted with worry. He only used his name when he was upset or cumming, and one of those could probably be ruled out. “Are you upset with me? Are...are we... fighting?”

 _No I’m just being a fucking dumbass and I have the emotional maturity of a pop country singer who only sings about beer, babes, and his appreciation for truck nuts,_ is what he wanted to say. What his dumb, stupid, idiot mouth said instead was:

“I dunno. Maybe.”

Hanzo’s blinked. His mouth opened, hanging open for a moment, before he shut it again. The muscles in his jaw tensed before he nodded to himself and began to collect his things in silence.

McCree knew that he put the man in an awkward place; even with the sessions he had with Zenyatta, he still was not capable of coping with this kind of conflict. This kind of argument, one that wasn’t inherently violent or hateful was foreign to him. Jesse hated himself for putting the other man in this position. He wanted to kick his own ass when Hanzo turned towards him with a carefully maintained blank expression.

“In that case, I will not overstay my welcome.”

“A’right.” _I’m sorry._

“I will see you when I see you, then.”

“Yeah,” _Don’t go._ “See you in a while, crocodile.” _Please, notice how stupid I am being and call me out._

But he didn’t. In fact, Hanzo looked disappointed, but he walked towards the door anyway. Looking back, he gave him a polite bow and a wave. There was a small smile on his face, but it was obviously forced and it made McCree want to ring his own neck.

“Goodbye, McCree.” He said, making his exit. “Please, stay out of trouble.”

“No promises,” He tried to keep his tone light as he called after him. He stepped closer to the door, so Hanzo could hear him. “Stay in one piece.”

“No promises.” Was the distant, mocking reply.

The automatic door shut behind him. And McCree was left standing in cactus boxers, perfectly alone.

Though he had told Athena to wake him up when Hanzo was leaving for his mission, he stayed in his bed staring up at the ceiling until she informed him that ‘Agent Shimada’ had officially left the building.

He rolled over and shoved his face into the pillow that still smelled of him.

 _Fuck_ , he was an idiot.

\--

As if he needed another reminder that he was an idiot, his Christmas Eve was incredibly lonely.

He tried to do what he always did, just sans Hanzo. Setting up the mini shrine they had made the year prior, he put out two bowls of lukewarm polose rojo for his granddad and himself. While they ate together, he presented his gifts; a small pile of interesting stones he had found on missions for his abuelo to add to his collection. As he ate, he explained where he had gotten them and exciting things that had happened to him that he knew his granddad would get a kick out of.

He _could_ feel his abuelo with him. Judging him.

“Hanzo ain’t coming today,” He informed him with a sigh. “He’s away on a mission.”

Even in death, his abuelo had this annoying quirk of knowing _everything_.

“ _Sí,_ la cagué.” He whispered to him, and though he was completely alone, he was uncomfortable admitting that even to himself. His granddad seemed smug, so Jesse rolled his eyes and grumbled. “Yeah, yuck it up, old man.”

Then, he brought his knees to his chin and mumbled to himself.

“I miss him.”

\--

Hanzo seemed surprised to see him waiting at the terminal, but he waved regardless.

McCree removed his hat and brought it to his chest. Then he waved back, nervously shifting from one foot to the other. He tried to smile at him, but Hanzo’s attention was stolen by a bellowing Reinhardt telling him to pick up his luggage. Jesse, too keyed up to keep waiting on him, walked across the landing platform to meet him.

“Howdy, y’all,” He greeted, nodding to everyone individually to make it look less obvious that he only had eyes for Hanzo. “Heard the mission was a success?”

Hana chirped a confirmation and chucked her bag at McCree, which he barely caught. Then she sprinted past him, claiming her desperate need to see Lúcio. Zenyatta gave him a friendly little wave, floating past him with Genji’s duffle in his lap. The owner of said duffle bounded up behind him, throwing an arm around McCree’s neck and pulling him down so that they could be eye-level. McCree choked briefly from being dragged, but the gesture made him smile. He wrapped an arm around Genji’s waist and gave him a squeeze.

“Missed ya,” He said this even as Genji grabbed his beloved, precious hat and put it atop his own head. He tried not to look at Hanzo as he said it. “Awful lonesome without y’all.”

He felt Hanzo’s gaze boring into the side of his head. God, had he missed those creepy, socially-inept stares.

“We missed you too, Jess,” Genji said earnestly, ruffling his hair. “Nobody was there to dip their dick into a cup of Cholula.”

“That was _one time_.”

“One time was memorable enough.” Hanzo pointed out dryly. Jesse glanced at him, grinning and winking. Hanzo scoffed, even as a small smile graced his features. “No one _I_ know would willing put their genitals in hot sauce.”

“Must not know very many people then, huh?”

“People usually that stupid in Texas?” Genji asked, prodding his side before releasing his neck to follow Zenyatta down the platform.

Jesse glared at the back of his head, opening his mouth to tell that mother fucker off when Hanzo spoke.

“How have you been, McCree?” He asked, a forced lightness in his voice. “I have not talked to you in a number of weeks. Did you stay out of trouble?”

“Well, seein’ you’ve come back in one piece so I’m gonna say, yeah I did.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes fondly, starting to walk across the platform. Jesse followed dutifully behind him.

“Hey, Han, I was wonderin’--”

“I’m very tired, McCree.” He didn’t sound particularly indignant, but knowing him for as long as he did, Jesse noticed the aggravated tension in his tone. He also refused to look him in the eye as he hurried into the headquarters in the direction of his room. So, he was still upset with him. That’s just dandy.

“It won’t take that--” He cut himself off, trying to disguise the edge in his tone with a throat clear. Hanzo slowed his stride, moving to stand directly next to Jesse, looking up at him with an eyebrow raised. Bad timing, because McCree nearly tripped over himself when they made eye contact. “I was wonderin’ if y’could just come back to my room for a bit. Jus’ to hang out.”

“Why?” Hanzo frowned as he asked him.

“Well I,” Jesse swallowed his nerves. “Missed ya.”

“You could have texted me,” Hanzo replied, sounding unimpressed by McCree’s explanation. They had reached Hanzo’s room, so the man turned to fully face him. “Any time within the past four weeks you could have contacted me. Maybe you would not have missed me so desperately.”

“I know,” Jesse heaved a sigh. “’m sorry.”

“Why did you not?”

McCree could have told him the truth. He could’ve said that he was nervous to talk to him after their argument. Or admitted that the reason for their disagreement was because he was projecting his insecurities onto him. Or that he finally realized that he was madly, undoubtedly in love with him and it freaked him out.

“I was lookin’ forward to talkin’ to you in person is all,” He admitted, choosing his next few words very carefully. “I feel bad how I treated you last time we were together and I wanted to make it up to you.”

He wasn’t expecting Hanzo to immediately collapse before him and thank the very ground he walked on for a half-assed, shit apology, but he _definitely_ wasn’t expecting a completely blank expression. McCree would pride himself on his ability to read the man better than any agent here. It had taken years to get to the point that they were and he was proud of that. He was happy knowing that Hanzo trusted him enough to loosen up a bit more around him.

But right now, he felt lost with the other man just blinking slowly at him.

“I’m sorry?” He tried, shrugging his shoulders. “Look, can you just come to my room? I have--”

Hanzo’s blank stare morphed into a glare.

“Jesse, I believe sometimes you think I am an idiot.”

A wave aggravation shot it’s way through McCree’s entire body, causing his hairs to stand on end.

“Hanzo, that’s not true at all,” He assured gruffly. At this rate, he was just going to completely lose his nerve; his leg spasming as it took all of his willpower to not walk away from this conversation. “Actually, it’s pretty much the opposite.”

“I do not mean in that way.” Hanzo said, letting out a self-suffering sigh.

“Then what way _do_ you mean?” Jesse challenged, annoyance seeping into his voice.

“When I told you I’ve never had a friend before, it was not meant to scare you,” The man said, out of nowhere. Jesse squinted at him minutely, trying to understand the mental connection. But, like with everything Hanzo did, he paused briefly in answering his unasked question for the sake of dramatic flare. “I told you that because I simply wanted you to know the impact that you have made on my life thus far.”

Jesse nodded slowly.

“You are very naive because you believe that I am,” Hanzo continued. “I was a criminal, McCree. A murderer. Just because I may be inexperienced in the art of ‘social interaction’ does not mean that I am in need of protecting. _I am not a bird in a gilded cage_ \--” He spit the words at him in a snarl. “--I am a grown man.”

“I never--” Jesse cut himself off, giving his mind some time to catch up with his mouth. He closed his eyes, shaking his head and grabbing the bridge of his nose. “Are you kiddin’ me? I ain’t never thought you like that.”

“Do not _lie_ to me.”

“I ain’t! I’m not, I--” He groaned, opening his eyes again and meeting Hanzo’s vehement glare. “Hanzo, I’m aware that you’re a grown man. If you weren’t we’d have a problem because I-- _damn it,_ will you please come back to my room?”

“No.”

“Hanzo, please.”

“No!”

“Why?”

“I do not want to _fuck you_ right now!”

Now that stunned McCree into complete silence. He didn’t realize they had both been yelling until he noticed Hanzo panting, shoulders rising with every breath. His face was flushed and there was a furious blue that circled his irises. He had seen Hanzo in the heat of battle more times than he could count, but never like this. This felt like he was seconds away from being devoured by the dragons.

 _Boy_ , he was really fucking this up.

“Boy, I am really fuckin’ this up.”

Hanzo seemed thrown off by that response.

“Yes,” He responded slowly, keeping his posture carefully rigid as he leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “You are.”

Jesse huffed a humorless laugh.

“I owe you an explanation.”

“I would say so, yes.”

He sucked in a breath, fingers itching for a smoke. He _really_ didn’t want to have to do it like this.

“Couple weeks ago, I was bein’ an immature dumbass because--”

“Enlighten me.” Hanzo interrupted dryly. Christ, that shouldn’t be endearing.

“ _Because_ , I was scared,” He paused to wet his desperately dry lips. “Of lettin’ someone like you in, after losin’ so many people. I didn’t wanna get fucked over again for gettin’ too attached. But, after ya left, I realized it was too late for that.”

He couldn’t help but feel a little pride at the way that Hanzo’s eyes widened.

“Those three weeks you were gone, I had a lot of time to think through things,” He knew his voice was shaking. He also knew his flesh hand was shaking, so he stuffed it into his pocket. Clearing his throat, he continued. “Also, Mei might have lent me her endothermic blaster so I could cover my entire room in fake snow. And since I already did that, I thought I might as well hang up some decorations.”

“Some decorations?” The other man’s voice was small, so much so that he hardly sounded like himself. When Jesse nodded, Hanzo broke eye contact, looking anywhere else but in his eyes. “What kind of decorations?”

“Snowflakes, ornaments, and shit. Even had a sprig o’ mistletoe above my bed before I took it down. Seemed presumptuous.”

“Hm.”

“In my defense, it was Genji’s idea.”

Hanzo immediately met his gaze again.

“Genji’s idea?”

Jesse swallowed the knot in his throat.

“Well, yeah. I needed advice on how to tell you I was in love with you.”

Hanzo choked.

“I was gonna sit you down and give you the whole spiel, like how much I miss you even when you’re right next t’ me. Or how I wake up wishin’ you were with me every day. Or how I want to write a nine-hundred page novel about your smile.”

McCree felt about ready to pass out. Hanzo didn’t look like he was doing much better.

“Even bought us matchin’ sweaters,” He blurted, flushing. “I was...goin’ to give you the option of wearing it with me while we watched A Year Without a Christmas Tree. But, just in case I also bought gasoline if you wanted to burn both of them. I know how much you like...burnin’...shit.”

They both stared at each other for what felt like hours, days, maybe even minutes. Eventually, McCree bit his lip nervously and Hanzo’s eyes glanced downwards to follow the movement. Then he sighed, turning around and punching in the code to his room. When his door slid open, he motioned for Jesse to follow.

And he did, without complaint. You know, like an idiot.

Like always, the man’s room was clean to the point that it looked barren. Hanzo once explained that even as a child, he was expected to keep his room spotless. And with his years working as a gun-for-hire, he always travelled light. He wasn’t used to having personal possessions, so he didn’t keep clutter. Jesse understood probably better than anyone that old habits die hard.

Hanzo set his duffle down on the bed and began to unpack it. It only took a couple of moments until he seemed to find what he was looking for. McCree still stood near the exit, putting a good amount of distance between them. Hanzo disregarded that as he walked right up to him and thrust a paper bag into his face. Jesse raised an eyebrow, looking from the bag to him.

“What’s this now?”

“I bought you a gift out a spite.”

McCree barked a laugh.

“ _Honey_ , you shouldn’t have.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes.

“Just open it, dick.”

McCree did, excitedly unfolding the paper bag and reaching inside of it. He also realized that this was the first time he had opened a gift in twenty years. Shit, that was sad, huh?

He felt something small and metallic inside the bag. Pulling it out, he laughed upon realizing he was holding a huge ‘fuck you’ in the form of a small pin. It was literally a pin of a middle finger. He looked up at the other man and grinned cheekily at him. Without another thought, he pinned it to the lapel of his plaid button down. Hanzo still looked upset, but there was a slight flash of pride in his eyes.

“I found it in a gas station in Dorado.”

“Never been to A Gas Station -- that a boutique?”

“Shut _up_ , McCree.”

“This just seems real special, is all.”

“I told you it was a spite present.”

“Ain’t complain’, I think it’s real--”

“I love you too, Jesse.”

McCree immediately felt like Hanzo just held a gun right up to his chest and pulled the trigger. His knees weakened and his jaw went slack. The other man moved closer until they were only a couple of inches away, having to crane his neck up to maintain eye contact. And some eye contact it was; Jesse felt like he was melting with the heat in his gaze. Hanzo took his hands in his, not seeming to mind the sweatiness of his palms in the slightest.

“I do not have a script planned like you did, but I know that I love you. I know that I want to wake up next to you every morning, to wear sweaters with you, and to watch those shitty Christmas movies you hate but always want to watch no matter what time of year it is.”

“Yeah?” He was aware that he was breathless.

“Yes, and I would very much like to kiss you.”

Before McCree could reply, Hanzo wrapped his arm around his neck and pulled him down to mash their lips together. This obviously wasn’t the first time they kissed, but it felt different. It was eager, on both their parts. The beginning of it was just a desperate clash of lips and teeth. Then it was slower, more meaningful. Jesse pulled Hanzo impossibly closer, clutching the back of his neck and running thumbs through his sideburns. Hanzo sighed through his nose, nipping his bottom lip, when Jesse tilted his head to the side and deepened the kiss.

To keep from suffocating, they broke the kiss but Jesse kept his forehead pressed against Hanzo’s.

He closed his eyes, breathing a soft laugh. Hanzo pressed a smiling kiss to his jaw.

“Thanks for that.” He whispered, not really knowing what the fuck else to say after something like that.

Hanzo chuckled low in his throat, sliding his arms so he could encircle them around Jesse’s middle. He squeezed him gently, pressing his face against his chest and mumbling something unintelligible. McCree leaned into the embrace, wrapping his arms around Hanzo and kissing his forehead.

“I love you. Merry Christmas.”

He whispered it so quietly, Jesse almost didn’t hear him.

“I love you, too,” He replied, relishing the instantaneous comfort the phrase gave him. “Merry Christmas, darlin’.”

“Do you want the ‘I’m with stupid’ or the ‘I’m stupid’ sweater?”

“If you have bought either of those, you can forget everything that I have just said and did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys happy fucking holidays. if you guys had a shitty month of festivities, i'm here to remind you that there's always tomorrow to look forward to. and that I love you. i don't know you, but i love you. if you had a fabulous month then i...still love you and i'm happy for you! thank you for taking your time to read if you did.
> 
> [also upon looking up examples of cactus underwear i found this picture. ](https://static4.redcart.pl/templates/images/thumb/1300/1500/1500/en/0/templates/images/products/1300/f4a28422b077b4f5b841619f205bf8e8.jpg)can any of you tell me why this man is so upset?
> 
> thank you to bry my wife my life but NEVER my strife.
> 
> [her twitter](https://twitter.com/Cauilflower) and [ my twitter](https://twitter.com/youjokebut) are a fockin riot


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